


Cover Me Please, I'm Fading

by trimorning



Series: Markus Manfred [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Artist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), BTW, Connor - Freeform, Everyone Is Alive, Except Carl, Gen, HEED TRIGGER, Hurt No Comfort, Josh - Freeform, Light Angst, Markus (Detroit: Become Human) Plays the Piano, Markus Has Panic Attacks, Markus Is A Manfred, Markus Is In Mourning, Markus whump, Markus-centric, Mentioned Characters Are As Followed:, North, Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Panic Attacks, Piano, Traumatized Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Trigger warning:, but hey, eyyyyyyy, fuck that should have been first, im a mess, is that how you spell that?, jesus christ - Freeform, simon - Freeform, so is Markus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 03:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15572844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trimorning/pseuds/trimorning
Summary: Anything and everything that laid its eyes upon Markus grabbed him by the throat and asked him to give. So, harnessed in purpose he did not ask for, he sang for them.Except for Carl, for Carl he painted. For Carl he played.ORMarkus has a hard earned (and well past due) opportunity to not be the glue that keeps everyone else together and he takes it and fucking bolts.





	Cover Me Please, I'm Fading

Markus, moving on autopilot, sits upon the bench of a piano and _plays_. He watches his hands as they move. Notes shoot up into the air sharply, like a bullet before aging quickly and softly as they’re replaced. Systematically. One by one. Note by note suspended in air and growing sweeter as it lingers.

Perfect copy.  
  
Markus closes his eyes and _thinks_ . For a moment it’s just stray thoughts and ideas lingering in his head like the notes he produces lingers in the empty room. Josh's relaxed posture after the military backed down, North's proud eyes glittering in the streetlights, the feeling of warmth that spreads through him in Simon's embrace, Connor's open face unsure yet determined, refugee centers for humans and androids who've been hurt as a result of the conflict, the beginnings of an official statement of demands from the government. But then, like a snowflake crystallized into solidity, images of _Carl_ unfurls in his brain. Carl, grinning and soft with residue sleep, “Good morning Markus, what are our plans for today?” Carl’s hand, warm and big, fingers curling around Markus’ own, “You shouldn’t hold a brush that stiffly my boy, what could you hope to paint like that?” And as always thoughts of Carl brings ease to the cut of Markus’ shoulders, tension leaving steadily. Immediately its whiskey drips and acrylic paint covered fingers, the scent of detergent and woody cologne. 

He wants to remember Carl like that, constant and grounding. He wants to remember his world as it was when Carl  was in it, sunlight and shelter, escape. But he knows he can't do that, it comes and goes in waves, the peace of his life as Carl's Markus. When it comes he finds center, he finds inspiration and drive, it pushes him further and further makes him fight harder, stand taller. It's only because he was Carl's Markus that he could be Jericho's Markus. He knows there is a light in this dark, somewhere in this dark, because he lived in it once-upon-a-time. With Carl, with the memory of Carl Markus can show the world. But sometimes its hard to hold on to, the sunlight and shelter, its warmth slipping through his fingers like sand and he can't hold fast. It leaves him scared, choking on the cloying scent of _war and burning thirium that he can’t seem to wash off no matter wh-_

Markus, all at once, is overwhelmed. His hands freezing on the keys, the music dying abruptly.  
  
He tries to think about Carl again, _Carl’s_ eyes blue like the _sky_ and open, shocked, “You want...a piano?” _and Markus remembers that that was the first time he felt nervous._ “Well alright then,” He sounded so unsure then, the _only_ time Carl seemed to have been at an honest to god _loss_ . He looked at Markus for a moment, completely silent and Markus?  
  
Markus was nervous, all consuming nervous, for _asking_ for _wanting_ , too confused with himself to hear the _awe_ in Carl’s voice, “Do yo- Anything specific you in mind my boy?”  
  
My boy…  
  
_He calls Markus ‘my boy’ and he looks at him with soft eyes. He teaches him how to paint to ‘just be, stop thinking’ he buys Markus a piano, calls him ‘my boy’ and he loves him._  A strangled noise escapes his throat. He does he does he loves Markus, Markus is his boy.

_His son._

_He is._

_He is._

_He_ _**is**_. ** __  
**  
Markus couldn’t call him dad, but he felt it. He did, he wasn't _programmed_ to feel, but he _did_  .  
  
He felt loved, he felt like a son and its been tearing him apart that he only got to say it once,  
  
"Dad." Carl calls Markus 'my boy' and he only called him dad _once._

And there is, no way to make up for that, to make up for that lost time and that hurts so much, like he's being ripped open slowly. Its all in the past, all of it.  
  
He called Markus ‘my boy.’ Past-tense.

He looked at Markus with eyes so kind, so soft.  
He bought Markus a piano.  
He called Markus ‘my boy’ and he loved him, _god did Carl love his boy_.  
  
Something shifts and the pain is gone all of a sudden it feels cold to the part of Markus that is a _soul_   that is _alive._ Like a blanket of code, of data, like Markus can put it on and _Carl_ can just become a series of facts rather than his _father_.

Carl Manfred.  
Age 75, date of birth July 13th 1963.  
Date of death November 5, 2038.  
Place of death.  
  
RK200: Place of death. 8941 Lafayette Avenue, Detroit.  


Markus: Place of _death. In my arms in my arms in my arms dad please don't go._  
  
  
Place of  d e a t h.  


The tears come all at once. Markus is shaking and alone in this house that’s so so so big and empty. Grand and hollow. RK200 not RA9, but close enough, and so used up.  
  
j  u  s  t  
  
Markus, harnessed in his warring state, on the bench of a piano, he moves his fingers and _plays_.  
  
a  
  
He tries to pull absolution from the grand piano as a soldier tries to bleed the tumult of war from their veins. He _plays_ for love, for peace, for _Carl for home._ Home is reliable serenity, but Markus sits there and faces off with the piano as if it’s a great beast of myths and he is harnessed in bronze instead of uncertainty _and this is all he is good for it seems_ -  
  
l  i  t  t  l  e  
  
Anything and everything that laid its eyes upon Markus grabbed him by the throat and asked him to give. So, harnessed in purpose he did not ask for, he sang for them.  
  
w  h  i  l  e  
  
Except for Carl, for Carl he painted. For Carl he played.  
Now he plays his piano, shaking, crying, mourning.

  
l  o  n  g  e  r 

**Author's Note:**

> Ok Hello! I really love this fucking game so much jfc. Markus is my favorite character and tbh I think about him at least 4 times a day. I've never written like angst before (can this be considered angst? is it sad enough? idk) but I had a lot of fun! Like for real, I love this character, i love him so much oh my god. I want more stories with him at the center ugh. Ok finished, I hope you guys liked this and please tell me what you think! and also if you want me to write more? if you want?


End file.
